


A Game of Darts

by AllThoseOtherWorlds



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Dart games, Episode: s05e16 Doctor Bashir I Presume, Episode: s07e23 Extreme Measures, Friendship, Gen, Genetic Enhancement, introspective writing on actual scenes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-18
Updated: 2013-10-18
Packaged: 2017-12-29 18:41:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1008738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllThoseOtherWorlds/pseuds/AllThoseOtherWorlds
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Darts show up several times over the course of DS9. This covers three of them, from Bashir's point of view. In this fic we have general angst over genetic engineering, some musings on control and the Dominion War, and  Bashir's friendship with Miles.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Game Begins

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, I do not own anything. I don't even own the scenes here, since they're from episodes. I just put them together and filled in some of Julian's perceptions.
> 
> Constructive criticism is appreciated.

The game is Miles’ idea. After the fiasco that was racquetball, I think he wants to play a game he feels he can win. This time, I resolve to give him a chance. Convincing Quark to put the dartboard up in the bar is surprisingly easy – the hard part is convincing him not to charge for it. I notice a few people giving the game a curious glance as Miles and I prepare to play, but no one approaches us.

The darts are small, sharp, and easy to throw. I don’t have to practice to know I could hit the mark without trying. In fact, sometimes it’s harder to miss. How far off the mark do I want to be? How long before I let myself “improve”? In some ways, pretending to be normal is one of the best tests of the abilities which prevent me from being so.

As I watch Miles close in on another (close) victory, I determine not to let this become like the racquetball games. I can’t let my ego get in the way of our friendship. It’s so easy to get carried away when the opportunity presents itself – the age difference, coupled with my own prior experience with the game made it too tempting to show off what I could do. Despite knowing full well the importance of pretending, I get far too caught up in things, and I can remember too many close calls. The exuberance and, unfortunately, the social ineptitude, is part of my identity I’ve never had to fake.

But as I throw another dart – halfway between the centre and the outer rim – I wonder if maybe that could change. It was _Miles_ who asked if we could play darts. The man hated me when we first met, but we’ve been through a lot since then. Although I know he’ll never admit it, part of my brain is already bounding, with its natural enthusiasm, to the conclusion that we’re on our way to being friends.

It’s my turn to throw the last dart. I line up the shot, sighting down the thin metallic shaft. I can see straight through to the centre of the board. If I wanted, I could probably calculate the exact vector to hit it, but I don’t. Instead, I carefully and precisely throw the dart near the edge of the board. Miles crows with glee at beating me again, but I just smile. I may have lost the game, but I hit my mark.


	2. Keep Playing

The moment has come and gone. In a way, it’s what I had expected to happen my whole life. I always hoped I would never get found out, but there was also some small part of me which knew I would be. When you lie for your whole life, being discovered is almost a relief – if you can get away with lying for so long, what have other people been getting away with?

Being discovered was devastating – I didn’t want to leave Starfleet, and I certainly didn’t want to stop being a doctor – but what was more frightening was the thought of how my friends would react. I was prepared to resign quietly, just to spare myself the pain of the rejections I expected from them. But my father, for perhaps the first time in all the years I’ve known him, took responsibility for his creation – for me – and the government saw fit to absolve me of my genetics. Will my friends do the same?

Tonight is Darts Night with Miles. We’ve played the game for years now, ever since, over some gradual span of time imperceptible even to my enhanced mind, we became friends. But as I walk to Quarks, listening to the familiar chatter of voices and dabo wheels, I can’t help but wonder if he’ll show up. We’ve overcome obstacles before – the differences in ideology between a doctor and an ex-soldier are unavoidable – but this is different. Sometimes, after a long day, even I struggle with my identity: which parts of me are real, and which are a mask I’ve forgotten I’m wearing? And more importantly, how can I expect Miles to find the answer to something that has stumped even me?

My fears abate somewhat (but not completely) as I see Miles’ familiar figure by the dartboard, waiting for me. He smiles as I approach, uncertain but apparently pleased. I smile back, we exchange greetings, and the game is on. As we play, each of us trying to pretend that nothing has happened, I’m reminded of our first week back on the station after being stranded in the Gamma quadrant with Garan’Atar and the other Jem’Hadar stuck on that planet. I thought Miles wouldn’t talk to me for the next week – all things considered, I wasn’t sure I was prepared to talk to him for a while myself – and yet somehow we found ourselves trying to settle back into the old routines, somehow understanding and forgiving each other while simultaneously trying to forget about the whole incident. While I wouldn’t say we’ve forgotten, I do know that after that first week or two of awkward half-pretending our friendship seemed to resume its normal course. With that in mind, I try my best to act as though nothing has happened, and hope that we’re not just pretending to still be friends.

It doesn’t even occur to me to play “for real” until Miles brings it up. He asks casually, with a slight air of suspicion, if I’ve been letting him win, and for a second I’m completely taken by surprise. I’m not surprised by the question – Miles is smart enough to put two and two together after the revelation he’s received – but by the realisation that I _have_ still been letting him win. My first reaction is to shrug it off, answer a question with a question, and try to figure out when something that takes so much work became second nature. Maybe it was my subconscious trying to make it up to him by letting him win. Maybe I’ve just thrown enough dart games to do it in my sleep. Maybe, at some point over the seventeen years I’ve been hiding, it just became easier to lie.

Whatever the case may be, Miles is having none of it. It’s like my racquetball match with him all over again: he gets a Determined look on face and hands me the darts, instructing me to “really play”. At this point there’s nothing for it but to throw the darts. It’s almost a relief, to send them one by one into the centre of the board. As I watch them strike – just where I want them to – I make a point of not looking at Miles’ face. It is only when I have thrown the last dart that I turn to him, hesitant, with an unspoken question hanging loudly in the air between us.

I don’t know what I’m expecting. I can recall, word for word, the exact conversation we had on our first mission together, but even with (or perhaps because of) my genetic enhancements, I have no clue what he will do next. When I was a teenager, I used to play out scenarios in my head. What if people found out? In my mind, sometimes they got angry at me for lying to them. They yelled at me and put me away, locked up with my parents. But sometimes – and these were the worst – they just looked at me with an expression of revulsion and fear, as though I weren’t the same person they had known all their lives. I’ve always had a surprisingly vivid imagination.

Miles takes a beat to respond, but when he does respond it’s with a friendly voice. He points to a line and makes me stand there to throw. I’ve already calculated the locations I could throw from to even the game, but I don’t tell him this, and I don’t correct his faulty guesses. Instead, I smile and back up, readying my darts. When it’s my turn to throw, I’m so relieved that I don’t even care if I hit the mark.


	3. The Game Continues

It’s been a long day. A long day, and half of it didn’t even really happen except in the mind of my archenemy. Who is now dead, and nearly took me – and, by association, Odo – with him. I sigh, and hurl the dart haphazardly into the board. I still can’t stop replaying the scene in my mind: Sloan, the promise of bringing down Section 31, Miles pulling me out of the collapsing mind. What if I could really have brought them down? What if Miles’ hadn’t been there? I know I don’t have enough information for an accurate simulation, but I find myself running them in my imagination nonetheless.

Miles comes in as I prepare to throw another dart. I put it aside, giving in to the promise of a drink shared with a friend. The familiarity is reassuring – the jokes, invitations to share dinner with his family – and I find myself glad of his presence for the second time that day. He’s the one who saved us, really, with the perspective and distance I lack. I’ve always let myself get carried away with things, be it a new holoprogram, a patient’s life, or a (well-deserved) enmity. Miles has had his moments, too, but today he was the one who could see what was really going on, and for that I am grateful.

It’s getting late now. My mind automatically does a few calculations, adjusts for time spent in Sloan’s mind, and spits out a number which promises I won’t get enough sleep. I don’t care, though I’m sure I will come tomorrow morning. Miles is leaving, beckoning me to come with him, join his family for a meal I would never want to share with my own. I follow, but something pulls me back at the last moment, and I turn to the dartboard across the room. The last dart is still in my hand.

I know Section 31 is still out there. I know the war isn’t over yet, and right now there’s nothing I can do to change either of those facts. When I first picked up a dart on this station so many years ago, the future seemed fairly clear – work, explore, grow – there were lots of new and unknown things, but they were exciting. I was looking for them.

Things are more complicated now. The future is uncertain, and exploration seems to focus more on the limits of morality than on the scientific frontier, and I don’t know when or if things will change again. There are times, however, when it doesn’t seem to matter so much; times when things get boiled down and simplified until all that’s left is a small metal dart and the promise of a friendly evening.

I hear Miles heading to his quarters. I don’t want to keep him and Keiko waiting. After looking down at the dart one last time, I line up my shot and, with an ease that somehow weaves together a small part of the chaos in this complex world, throw it at the board. I don’t need to turn around again and look to know it was a bullseye.


End file.
